One for the Road
A poem I wrote for my dialects class. It’s a feel-good, thinkin’ kind o’ thing.
If you see me in the hall appearing distracted
it’s only because I’m living on the verge of tears these days.
Not tears of sorrow nor of fear, but for the near constant state
of amazement that pervades my overworked consciousness.
Watching the gifts of money and time and support distill upon this endeavor
as a gentle dew, I am filled with wonder and consuming awe.
That anyone would share of their substance in such a way is to me
a divine act, worthy of profound respect and gratitude unending.
To those who have given of your means toward the creation of this film,
May God’s blessings attend you for your kindness, generosity,
and child-like faith in the imagined dream, though yet unseen.
These funds are sacred to me and will be managed with commensurate care.
I am speechless. And so I write the colors of my heart.
It’s times such as these that mere prose fails to illustrate
a depth of feeling unexpressed. Even poetry for all its pomp falls short.
And so I say with flawed benediction, “Thank you for believing! You ROCK!”
So-o-o… How’s Your Script Coming Along?
This is one of the most common greetings I get now-a-days. Serves me right for having the gall to publish my life online. This greeting is usually accompanied by, “I wanna read it. OK?” I rarely respond to this second question with more than a slight smile and a head-nod to acknowledge that I heard the question, but am offering no firm commitment to anyone at this point. Continue reading
A Case of “the Ben’s”
No, I don’t mean, “the bends,” as in decompression sickness from coming up from a ridiculous depth on an undersea or outerspace adventure. I mean, “the Ben’s” as in “the Chad’s,” or “the Michael’s,” or “the Derrick’s.” Let me try this again.
For some reason, there are a lot of fellows named, “Ben” in my life. Not least of which is my own dear father. His name is not “Benjamin.” It never has been. It is simply, “Ben.” His mother was a bit of a purist.
It’s August… again.
Sometime, while you’re waiting at the dentist’s office or in a DMV line and have nothing better to do, take an inventory of the times in your life when you’ve had a serious injury or illness. Note the time of year; perhaps even the month if you remember it. If you’re anything like me—and really, I pray you are not, for your own sake—you may notice that there is a time of year that appears to be a bit more “dangerous” than the norm. I’m really not sure if I’m alone in this, but I usually find that where there is one, there will be more.
My Nanna: The Great Green Leviathan
Did you know that New Hampshire is the only state that does not require anyone over the age of 18 to wear a seatbelt? All other states have seatbelt laws of varying severity for travelers of all ages. While the United States was right in step with the rest of the world for the installment of “safety restraints”, we were nearly dead last (right along with the U.K. and Hong Kong) to make it a legislated requirement. Australia won that race, requiring the use of seat belts as early as 1970, with New Zealand, France, and Singapore following hot on their heels. The U.S. didn’t get serious about safety belts until 1984, when New York became the first state to make it mandatory.
Did’ja miss me? Even just a little? Oh, come on! You were pining for something new and completely irrelevant from the Crab, weren’t you? — [Crickets]
Right. Well, I missed you anyway.